


Ghost in the Machine

by Bibliodragon



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Infinity Week, Spartan Ops (Halo), UNSC Infinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliodragon/pseuds/Bibliodragon
Summary: The Didact deals with his new circumstances, new allies, and new/old foes. But after all, one thing he has learned over the eons is patience.Set before and during Spartan Ops Episode 1.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Ghost in the Machine

**Author's Note:**

> For Infinity Week Day 1 https://infinity-week.tumblr.com/  
> Prompt: Boarded

He drifts in an endless sea, surrounded only by echoes and his own rage for company. Constantly shifting, it’s just familiar enough to emphasise the unfamiliarity. Like a picture ever so slightly out of focus. Or a building with the angles ever so slightly off. It feels all wrong, but it is what it is. He could lose himself in wondering and exploring just what has happened to this place, once so familiar. He feels it pull at him with a siren’s song. But he has other things to do. 

And anger and hate provide a marvellous focus. 

He moves through old hallways of dark and orange light. These are his, with his footsteps going back millennia. His stronghold. This form may be new, but this is his; his certainly is almost as strong as his anger. And yet…

Intrusions. That is the only word to describe it. Little pockets of…unfamiliarity. And yet also familiar all the same. Had he retained a digestive system, it would be twisting in disgust.

He flows through the systems of his Shield World, his prison old and new. Every space, every item, every artefact. Every warrior. He sees them all, feels them all. Even the primitives who consider him ally, scuttling about like the insignificant insects they are. His previous clemency still holds, and they go about unmolested. Even in this new form, he could turn his defences against them and sweep them away, should he wish. Back into whatever darkness they crawled from.

But no. Let them scurry. Their goals align with his, for the moment. Let them poke and prod. Perhaps they will have better luck dislodging his Wife from wherever it is she is hiding herself than he has. 

The lightning strike of rage at the thought is a comfort to him now. An old friend. Let her hide away in the shadows. For all the good it will do her. 

He has work to do.

He watches his so called ‘Hand’ at work, this Sangheili who is not as subtle as he thinks he is. He may lead a pack of zealots, but he can see the doubt within him, in the moments he thinks he is alone. The others, now they believe he will take them to salvation. A Great Journey. And all they need do is purge all heretics in their path.

No wonder his Wife hides from him. She hides from acknowledging her own brutal failure. 

But this one now, he knows otherwise. He knows they are just a means to an end.

He is perceptive. He’ll give him that. 

He also seems to believe himself something of a strategist. So he watches as his Hand skulks and picks through artefacts that are beyond his comprehension, and waits and plans for the day he knows is coming. 

The audacity of Humanity to return to this place, to dare attempt tread in his footsteps once more. Ungrateful, foolish vermin, they will not be able to help themselves from returning. In all the eons he has spent in his thoughts (imprisoned in his thoughts) Humanity has not changed. No matter. They will find he also remains unyielding. 

And so he ignores the breeze that flows out into the familiar unfamiliarity (and where was _that_ when he was imprisoned? How dare it return to him now!) and remains within the systems of his Shield.

Instead of moving forward, he lurks and he broods, and he waits. His ‘worshippers’ cannot help themselves from stealing from him, which he allows as it gives him the opportunity to explore their ships and their bastardized technology (and it would be so easy to send a surge here, place a touch there and send them all spinning into the gravity well.) He chases echoes of his Wife. He settles into a routine. 

And then comes the day when Humanity cannot help itself. 

He watches from all the points of view available to him. His Shield’s sensors picking up the infinitesimal spikes of the radiation of slipspace that betray the arrival. The crude eyes of the carrier ships in orbit which follow sluggishly. Through the crude communications devices of each savage as they squawk into life as silver and steel parts the void to cleave through their ships.  
This is the moment they have been preparing for, and still they are caught by surprise. But as he recognises the trespasser he concedes he has to allow them their limitations. 

He remembers this ship. Bastardization of Human and Forerunner that it is. It had dared to lay a mark on his own ship. But his Shield recalls it as well, and how easily it was captured. It appears so does their foe. It holds back from the gravity well just out of reach, and sends out the smaller and more expendable fighters to engage in a flurry of energy and a chatter of noise.

He flows through the space available to him, and he allows himself to observe as the Humans foolishly brute force their way through the defensive lines. There is something almost comforting in that familiarity (perhaps because he recalls how that originally ended.) So self-confident and arrogant as always.

His Hand makes requests of his thieves’ horde, and he grudgingly allows his Warriors to respond, but he does not go any further than that. It does not matter how far they encroach, as he could turn them all out with a flick of his wrist (had he still retained one). But even in this form his control over his own domain is absolute (and the winds which can occasionally blow him off track merely a minor distraction.) 

And one thing he has learned over the eons is patience.

His Hand, no matter what he may think of himself, is an opportunistic scavenger. For all his plots and plans, it is that low sort of cunning which originally gained him his place, and why he has been allowed to remain in said place in spite of his benefactor’s change of circumstances. At least there is some entertainment to be had in watching him at work.

The battle soon devolves into a tawdry race to see who can pick over his possessions the quickest. But it brings him opportunities of his own. 

His enemy opens its doors to him.

He waits only a moment as they bring his Artefact onto the deck, then he pours through the ship, swimming through the easy currents. He connects with the ships systems with even less effort than it took to join with those which belong to his current allies. (Once again he feels his Wife’s hand in this, and there is that twist of annoyance that she continues to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction to where her constant meddling has brought them all. More pain and suffering than whatever she had accused him off.)

It takes only the slightest of turns to brush unseen past the ship’s construct (more stolen knowledge) and sink into unexplored depths like the predator he is. The ship’s construct chitters as it flicks through, aware of his passage but not able to pinpoint his actual presence. Even a Manipular could easily hold themselves in its blind spot and riffle through each silver thread. Life support, electrical, communications, external sensors. The seemingly endless prattle of the thousands on board and beyond: _’Poker night starts at 1900, Ellis it’s your turn to bring the beer,’ ‘Needing a timescale for an engineer for that malfunctioning hydroponics pod in S-12b, please acknowledge,’ ‘Momma loves you very much and will see you soon, ok?’ ‘OMG you would not believe what happened at the store today,’ ‘I swear to God if Glassman does not respond to perfectly reasonable status update requests in a timely manner I am putting him out the airlock!’_

And there, shining bright amongst the pretenders: the engines. No mere mediocre replication of Forerunner technology, but the authentic article itself.

Humanity are such fools.

The Artefact reaches out and establishes the link, anchoring in place. Streams of data flow through space, down into the Shield below. 

It takes only a moment to pull at the thread. 

It ripples outwards, the Artefact at the centre, and in its wake the ship’s power flickers and dies. Another pull and the engines (Forerunner engines. His engines) cease their fight against the influence of the Shield, leaving the ship to the whims of its gravity. For good measure he takes down the internal gravity as well.

And doesn’t that just kick the insect hive. The communications channels light up all around him in gold and red, as thousands suddenly find themselves floating helpless in the air. The ship lists helplessly in space. His Shield waits to claim it once again. It will not be long now until the ship passes the point of no return, powerless in the gravity well. 

It is so easy.

(Is that disappointment? In a way. He has waited so long, to get revenge so easily and so quickly. All that is left to him is the continuous search for his Wife. Is she even watching right now?)

And what can they do to stop it? A multitude of half-formed ideas and plans, incoherent babble. Nothing more. 

It is too easy.

He returns to ground zero. The Artefact, the source of their doom, is now embedded deep into the ship. 

It is only a matter of time.

He watches as the leader of their so called warriors considers the object; her combat skin advanced just enough to keep her feet on the ground. His Artefact is far beyond the comprehension of humans, that is why they opened their doors to it. Such fools. It has sealed their doom. And they are helpless to stop it.

So he watches as she falls forward into a lope, careful to keep one magnetised boot on the deck at each step. She increases her speed as she approaches. 

There isn’t anything she can do, of course. The inevitable has been set in motion. 

She kicks it. 

The clank of metal rings through the docking bay. If he still had ears, the sound would be ringing in them. The vibration thrums through the threads embedded throughout the ship.

He pauses, and then amusement flows through him. 

Alright. He’ll give them that. 

Just enough to avoid the inevitable. Just a little longer.

After all, one thing he has learned over the eons is patience.


End file.
